


Ϝάναξ Καί Βασιλεύς

by Seika



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, HOMER - Works, The Iliad - Homer
Genre: (Seriously could a wrangler please fix the canonical tag reading 'Akhilleu' instead of Akhilleus?), (We're not addressing him: there's no reason for him to be vocative), All The Epithets, Canon-Typical Misogyny, Gen, Pre-Iliad, The Epic Cycle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-22 20:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11387802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seika/pseuds/Seika
Summary: Wanax Kai Basileus - A Lord And A KingOr, Agamemnon's pride cometh before his fall.





	1. Ϝάναξ Καί Βασιλεύς

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesertVixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertVixen/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: How do Agamemnon and Odysseus interact? Ag. seems like a super tool and Odysseus has to deal with him - how does he do it?

“Aias, I can’t lie to you,” I told my friend. “I’m about out of patience with him as well. But I swear by flashing-eyed Athene, who is dear to us both, that you’ll have no luck getting him to give the girls up. He says they were given to him by the host, fair and true, and that he’d not return them unless the whole distribution was done over.”

The great, dark form of the Salaminian prince rumbled. It was like the rattling of pebbles on a mountain slope, beginning to fall away, gathering others of their kind, until the whole hillside slides away - just like that. Except that I’d rather take my chances with a landslide than Aias, son of Telamon, any day of the week.

I hurried on with my explanation. “It’s nonsense - you know it and I know it. But he’s convinced himself of it, that the crowd ceded him the power to make his own picks, so he’s within his rights. Challenge him over it, and he’ll tell the rest of the army you just want something better for yourself. Then he’ll go on - he’ll call you a coward, say you want to abandon your oath against Troy, and then dare you to leave, saying he can spare twelve ships.”

He waited, pondered. Aias was ten times more stubborn than an ass, the sort of man who’d stand out on deck in the midst of a storm while Zeus’ bolts crashed down around him, and never flinch. I held my breath. Had I over-egged it? Aias was straight-forward to a fault, and had little patience for rhetoric, but his mind was keen as his spear’s point, and if he saw me trying to appeal to him too much by blunt speaking, he’d take just as much offence as if I’d tried to misdirect him. (And being blunt about what Agamemnon was doing, Hera curse his pride, ran the risk of infuriating the Tower too. Two paths in a forest: along the easy way, two lions; along the hard way, just one - but all three of them hungry for a man’s flesh).

“You tempt me, son of Laertes,” he growled, at last. “You tempt me to defy this prancing son of Atreus and see how just well he _does_ manage without me and mine. And there are others who would follow the warriors of Salamis, for black blood binds us to Athenai and Phthia alike. But you speak wise and gentle words all the same, and there is still a war to fight, and glory to be gained for Aiakos’ line. We stay. For now.”

As he strode away with thunderous footsteps, I let out the breath I’d been holding. Goddess of wisdom, I’d been handling proud rulers with hairline tempers all day for Agamemnon over this latest debacle. Akhilleus had taken to this better than his kinsman only because Peleus’ son had got the girl he wanted - a pretty, fair-cheeked, little thing by the name of Diomede - in spite of Agamemnon bypassing the host’s distribution. But he’d still picked a fight  anyway, just because he resented the older man’s rule. He was exactly like a young dog yapping  and biting at the old leader of the hounds, just waiting to prove himself the first among the pack, even if the power of his youth was his only advantage. Oilean Aias hadn’t cared a whit for the way things were supposed be done either, but his ever-present, dark jealousy had been stirred up all the same - though at least he was fool enough to be talked down easily. And then Idomeneus, Eurypylos, Sthenelos, Elephenor -

“Odysseus!” came the booming call.

Oh, by the Styx whose waters flow dark through Haides’ house ...

“Yes, most glorious Agammemnon?”

In a technical sense, I suppose it was true: he’d certainly taken the most prizes from the war so far. But over the last nine years, he’d earnt far less praise than most of the captains of the host, and his poet’s title had begun to be uttered with a certain ring of sarcasm around the campfires. Not that he’d noticed.

“Big Aias wanted a word with you, eh?” He’d taken on that jocular tone which - well, it worked well enough for him when he wanted to seem like the benevolent Father Zeus of clear skies; he’d been trained decently by Atreus in the art of ruling, before the cruel old bastard had got his just deserts - but Agamemnon was never the best at the _timing_ of it, and he turned out patronising  far too often when dealing with the rest of us kings.

Like now. But I turned my tongue to another subject (because Odysseus, son of Laertes, grandson of Autolykos, never _bites_ his tongue, not even in the face of kings of Mykenai).

“He did, noble son of Atreus. A most concerning problem, one he believed many in our camp shared. He worried that the trouble might be widespread.” I really didn’t need to lay it on that thick. Agamemnon was full of himself, but he was bright enough that he could usually take a hint if you hadn’t got him up on his dignity first.

“And you sorted him out, did you?” And there, again, the little slip. Too much eagerness in his voice, a hint of desperation, of neediness. To a common warrior, nothing. To me - oh so much.

“It’s been seen to for now. I hope it won’t arise again, but I fear that’s not within my control.”

“Excellent! You did very well, Odysseus, very well. ‘Of many plans’, they call you, don’t they? Much-deserved, I say.”

My patience snapped. Quietly, like a little twig underfoot in the forest, where the noise is muffled by the autumn’s fallen leaves and mossy old trunks. But, all the same, it’s that soft sound which sends the old boar turning and charging to tear a long scar in your thigh, one which still aches in poor weather decades on.

“I would like to hold council with you, wide-ruling Agamemnon, in private.”

Agamemnon blinked and paused for a second. “Very well, son of Laertes, equal to Zeus in wisdom. Spurning your advice would be Blindness’ work. Let's seek out my hut.”

I raised a brow. “Both your hut and mine, shepherd of the host, are right in the centre of the long-haired Danaans’ ships. We won’t get privacy there, however hard we try. No, I’ve got a better idea.”

He laughed. “Your mind is twisted with suspicion, noble Odysseus, but I said that I’d listen to your counsel, so I won’t stop now. Where should we go?”

Well, I thought, one end of the line takes you by Akhilleus, and the other by Aias, so we’re not going out there unless I want your bull-like neck wrung. Which I don’t, yet.

“We’ll go,” I said, “to sea.”

 

* * *

 

“You wouldn’t,” he asked, “rather have got someone else to row?”

I, heaving on the oars of our borrowed little fishing craft, smiled crookedly. Pride, pride, pride, son of Atreus. That self-assurance will get your great heart skewered on a spear’s point one day - or a dagger’s, through the back.

“I wanted privacy, lord Agamemnon, and this is how we get it. Besides, I may be older than you, but I’m no weaker: Telamon’s son will attest to that, any day we’ve met in the ring.” I pulled with relish, revelling in the bunching and loosening of muscle that powered our boat onward.

“And,” I continued, “I _am_ the king of an island realm. I went out among the rocks like this even when I was a child, escaping my guards by every trick I could imagine. It’ll be a long time before my limbs can’t take an oar’s weight any more, Poseidon willing. You know, we of Ithake seek the Earthshaker’s blessing before every voyage, asking that he keeps his waves calm and lends his might to our arms. In return, we offer a fine, fatted lamb, or the best of the catch that day, and Zeus’ brother looks on us kindly. I owe him a full, sacred hecatomb on my return.”

“Often I forget about your age, godlike Odysseus, because you’re rightly known still as a spearman of the first rank and a sacker of cities. But when you tell stories like Nestor of sweet speech or Old Phoinix, then you remind me of them clearly. I don’t think you brought me out here to tell me about the quaint customs of your rugged little rocks. You wanted privacy - why?”

So. The heart of it. I rested my oars and replied, speaking winged words.

“Wide-ruling Agamemnon, Lord of Men. They call you truthfully ‘both noble king and powerful spearman’: you’re a terror in battle to the Trojans and the Lykians; and Mykenai remains rich in gold, as it was said of old, under your rule. From your domains, you brought enough men to fill a hundred ships, and provided others with their ships too, so splendid is the treasury of Atreus.  I have to praise, too, your loyalty to your family. Menelaus called you to help him regain his honour, and you went to wage war on mighty Ilion for his sake, calling all the kings of Greece to your side.”

He puffed up like a net cast into water, unfurling to catch all the fish that swim into its grasp, and bringing home a fine meal to be eaten with thanks to the gods.

“But you’re a shit ‘Lord’ and no mistake.”

From his proud pose at the prow, looking for all the world like he was trying to imitate the noble aspect a poet gives to Perseus in his verses, with chest puffed out and jaw jutting, Agamemnon suddenly collapsed, choking on his own spit.

I went on before he could get himself together and start screaming at me for my ‘insolence’. “We’re _all_ kings and princes, you know? You’ve brought along a hundred men of royal blood who hold the sceptres of their lands in their own right, blessed by Zeus, and a hundred more who’ll take up a sceptre if they ever reach home. Sometimes they’re one and the same: stout Aias rules Megara already and old Telamon will grant him Salamis on his return, for he’s proven himself a dozen times over in this war.”

I took my own sceptre from my belt - not a gaudy one, to be sure, covered in gold and gems, but of Ithake’s own wood and precious to me for that alone - and leant over to prod him right in his godlike chest to make my point.

“You’re calling yourself the Lord of us all, setting yourself above everyone else, like Zeus is Lord of the Gods. And, it’s true, we gave you command when we swore our oaths together. A hundred kings might as well be no king, and then you get only chaos. But you’re dealing with proud men, son of Atreus, and that means you’ve got to temper your own pride. They’ve been first among their hosts for their whole lives, and they’ve swallowed enough by handing over supremacy to you. Don’t try to force any more down their throats, Lord of Men, or they’ll spit it all back in your face.”

“I -”

“Let me tell you something, wide-ruling Agamemnon. Today, for the sake of holding this army together, I spoke to the elder Nestor and my friend horse-taming Diomedes on your behalf. They both see the need to rally everyone around, and don’t care to fuss if you get a choicer bit of meat, so long as Troy falls. They’re willing to be patient with you, to ask the others to be patient with you, and that’s most of the reason your head isn’t on a spear already.”

“A sp-”

“ _Then_ , I spoke to war-minded Idomeneus. The king of Krete, king of its Hundred Cities, and a man who has more than enough wealth and glory that he could decide, whenever he wants, to simply leave, taking all his eighty black ships with him. I spoke to him of his oath, of the advantages in keeping his nobles both ready for war and also occupied with something that isn’t raiding each other or the Aigyptian coast. He agreed that he would stay, but told me that his men had sworn no oath to you, and they were liable to turn back soon if you kept insisting that the host’s prizes were yours.”

“Turn b-”

“ _Next,_  Menestheus, my comrade in strategy, who rules Athenai. But he understands that money is the oar which can move every ship, and  Attike always wants more wealth, rich as it may be. Deny him his fair chance at his share, and you’ll find an entire wing of your army without a marshal, given he commands the chariots of the Akhaians. I reminded him of the prophecy of Kalkhas, and told him that even if you took the wealth of every other city in the Troad, his ships would sink with the weight of their share of gold from Troy alone in just a year’s time. He agreed, and said he’d ask Priam for his share directly and then leave, if you tried this again.”

“Treacher-”

“There were many more like this. Son of Atreus, there were many more. Nine years of toil has left the men greedy and the kings chafing, and there’re only so many more Trojan allies to sack to keep them happy. They’re deserting Priam already - he doesn’t defend them, and Alexandros is at fault without doubt. You walk a sword’s edge.”

I waited for the little interjection that was starting to be customary by now, just so I could start talking again right on over it. It’s a petty little power play, but I liked to think it was helping hammer home the point to Agamemnon. Also it was just satisfying after a day’s worth of arguing, negotiating, and begging on his behalf without any prospect of honour gained in return.

But he sat there, as deflated as he had been inflated before, eyes cast down to the bottom of the boat.

I shrugged. I hadn’t finished yet.

“And, most important and most angry of all, there are the grandsons of Aiakos. Aias the Great and Akhilleus the Swift-Footed. The bulwarks of the Akhaians. Our two best fighters, who hold the flanks of our camp against the enemy’s assaults - and they’d cost us even more than that to lose.” Agamemnon looked up, frowning for a second before his face cleared. And then turned far more sour again. He was a good enough general to remember this much. “Precisely: our bulwarks, and our admirals too. If Menestheus goes, you lose your chariots as a respectable fighting force. If the Aiakides go, you lose the war fleet. Which means you lose any protection for our ships at sea. Which means we can’t raid, we can’t get supplies, we can’t get reinforcements, and we can’t damn well retreat.”

This was, to be fair, exaggerating a bit. The Aiantes - Aias and his brother Teukros - were the real admirals, being fierce tacticians and having sailing experience thanks to their island origin. Akhilleus was in that position as a sop to his swollen head, and losing him would only hurt on land, though it certainly _would_ hurt there. Nor was I genuinely convinced that either of the Aiakides would follow the other, if they abandoned the expedition. So much pride in both of them, nearly enough to match Agamemnon. But Aias had raised the possibility, and it was a useful threat to concentrate the King of Mykenai’s mind.

“They’re gloryhounds, the pair of them. You know that just as well as I do. But what’s the point of glory, Atreus’ son? It’s to be known, to have men listen to you, to have your name sung now and in a thousand years time. It’s to get all those titles - captains of the host, kings good at the battle-cry, Swift-Killer and Unbreakable Wall. It’s to be _respected_. And denying them their war-prizes is the best way, bar none, to make them feel like you don’t respect them. To make them feel like, no matter how many cities they sack or heroes they kill, all their efforts are in vain.

“And then, wide-ruling Agamemnon, Lord of Men, they will fuck off and leave you here to die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Mykenaian Greek society, the wanax was the supreme ruler from the palatial centre; a basileus, a relatively minor provincial official. With the collapse of the wide-ranging palace system, local basileës appear to have risen in status, until their title became the common term for a monarch. Homer's pseudo-Mykenaian milieu reserves the title of wanax for the gods, and for Priam and Agamemnon among living mortals, while the rest of the many kings at Troy remain basileës.  
> Almost the _exact_ opposite meaning is conveyed in English by the conventional translations of 'basileus' as 'king' and 'anax' as 'lord', which I've nonetheless stuck with for familiarity and for the sake of this particular 'fic's take on the matter.
> 
> AO3 doesn't like grave accents on Greek. *sad face*
> 
> Amongst the articles to which I referred while writing this, I want to highlight Douglas Cairns' "The First Odysseus: Iliad, Odyssey, and the Ideology of Kingship" (Gaia 18, pp. 51-65) as a thoughtful work on Odysseus' relationship to kingship as it's expressed in the Homeric epics, and what that means for him and Agamemnon in the Iliad. I don't always agree with Cairns, but it was a helpful paper nonetheless.


	2. A selection of scholiastic notes upon the work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to throw this lot over to my tumblr when the anonymous period is up, because it really doesn't need to be part of the 'fic itself, but I wanted to have it available for people reading as soon as the collection goes live.
> 
> (For that reason, it'd be ideal if you addressed comments to the first chapter and not this one, since it's going away).

_My friend_ \- while this is not difficult to draw from the Iliad (their mutual presence on the embassy in 9, Aias shielding Odysseus in 11, their friendly match in 23), this characterisation relies more on the Odyssean encounter with Aias' shade, and my need to fill this ‘fic with to the brim with irony (here, in respect to the Sophoklean Aias).

 _Flashing-eyed Athene, dear to us both_ \- drawing on a tradition from Pausanias (1.42.4) that had Aias rule Megara while still prince of Salamis (which I’ll reference later), and attributed to him the original dedication of a statue in that city to ‘Aiantian Athene’. Also, IRONY. (In Sophokles, of course, he’s said to rely on no god, while the Iliad itself has him most often involved with Zeus).

 _Stubborn as an ass_ \- Per the simile in 11.558, where the full Trojan army backed by Zeus’ majesty is described as boys breaking sticks on an ass when they try to push back Aias.

 _Mind as keen as a spear’s point_ \- Aias, being the archetypal huge warrior and a counterpoint to wily Odysseus, doesn’t have much of a reputation for cleverness. (Similarly, Odysseus' raw brawn is also often overlooked). In antiquity, however, he was often considered intelligent as well as strong. In the Iliad itself, we have his being chosen as an ambassador to Akhilleus (and making the most effective speech), and the odd way in which he actually employs full-scale battle tactics and formations despite the stylised, champion-centric nature of Homeric combat. He’s also always part of the ‘counsel-bringers’ and the ‘seniors’ when they’re gathered. Later literature, such as Philostratos’ _Heroikos_ , and Dictys Cretensis’ _Ephemeris Belli Troiani_ , picked this up and continued to make him one of or _the_ most senior tactician among the Greeks. (Dictys in fact has Aias’ speech be so effective that it persuades Akhilleus back to the fight!)

 _Athenai and Phthia alike_ \- A prominent Athenian family, including Miltiades, on whose tactics the victory at Marathon rested, claimed descent from Aias: in general, of course, Salamis and Attike had close ties. Phthia is bound to Salamis because Peleus and Telamon are brothers, Akhilleus and Aias therefore being first cousins.

 _pretty, fair-cheeked, little thing by the name of Diomede_ \- the only point at which I give even a mildly useful hint at the place of this ‘fic in the Cyclic chronology: this is meant to be shortly after the sacking of Lesbos by Akhilleus (we imagine here a general expedition, rather than Dictys’ version of Akhilleus and Aias taking separate parts of the army to go on a spree around the Troad). Diomede acts as a substitute Briseis for Akhilleus in Book 9, and it’s notable that Briseis is likely Lesbian in origin.

 _bypassing the distribution of the host_ \- tendentiously based on Agamemnon’s phrasing in 9.129 that _he_ chose the girls he wanted from Akhilleus’ Lesbian sack. The distribution of prizes at the sole discretion of the host should probably not even be thought of as an absolute in Homer, but I think this is an interesting tack to take re: the events of Iliad 1.

 _Father Zeus_ \- raising the spectre of ‘wanax’ from the title and the later parts of the ‘fic: Zeus takes a very particular epithet, ‘Lord of Gods and Men’. (Apollo is the only other god I can think of who is named anax with anything approaching the same frequency, and doesn’t get a nice, reverent formula to go with it).

 _trained by Atreus, before the cruel old bastard got his just deserts_ \- preferring the version of Hyginus, in which Atreus survives for some time into his sons’ lives, to that of Apollodoros, in which his murder while they are very young boys causes them to be smuggled away by their nurse.

 _a long scar in your thigh_ \- in which Odysseus’ epic simile suddenly becomes a bit more personal than it perhaps properly should. At least he doesn’t fully recount the adventure like Odyssey 19.

 _Blindness_ \- Poor Ate, on whose shoulders Agamemnon lays all his problems.

 _[the positions of the huts]_ \- The positions of Odysseus’, Aias’, and Akhilleus’ huts are fixed by the beginning of Iliad 11. I believe Agamemnon’s is also meant to be central, but I’ve forgotten where that’s mentioned, so we’ll call it a reasonable extrapolation.

 _great heart_ \- in specific reference to the literal meaning of the epithet μεγάθυμος, which idiomatically translates as proud.

 _Poseidon_ \- IRONY.

 _both noble king and powerful spearman_ \- specifically, Helen’s description from the Teichoscopia.

 _provided others with their ships too, so splendid is the treasury of Atreus_ \- the Arcadians got their ships from Agamemnon; the Treasury of Atreus is Schliemann’s total misnomer for the grand tholos tomb at Mykenai. (IRONY).

 _sceptred kings_ \- An important phrase on which I based quite a bit of this ‘fic’s ideological premise - they all hold their own power, and their own symbols of the right to rule. While there’s much made of Agamemnon’s personal sceptre in Book 2, σκηπτοῦχοι βασιλῆες is applied to all the Akhaian royals. Odysseus’ own sceptre is specifically referred to in Book 3 when Antenor recounts the Argive embassy to Troy.

 _we swore our oaths together_ \- the Iliad is vastly more circumspect about any promises made by the expedition’s leaders than later traditions, which make much of an oath sworn by all Helen’s suitors to protect her and her eventual husband. Here, I prefer the Homeric way.

 _a hundred kings might as well be no king_ \- based on Odysseus' sentiments in support of Agamemnon at Il 2.203-6.

 _my friend Diomedes ... Menestheus, my comrade in strategy_ \- Diomedes and Odysseus are persistently associated in the Iliad and beyond, from the Doloneia (which, all right, is probably a much later interpolation into the Iliadic text) to the stealing of the Palladion. They’re both fine fighters who are also inclined to trickery (re: Diomedes, see his exchange of armour with Glaucon, or Tzetzes’ explanation of the flame on his helmet, as well as all the sneaking about he does with Odysseus). Menestheus and Odysseus are insulted by Agamemnon in Book 4 for standing around plotting instead of fighting.

 _Trojan allies ... deserting Priam_ \- following Dictys.

 _Bulwarks of the Akhaians_ \- an epithet exclusive (to the best of my memory) to these two. They’re the biggest Danaans, the guardians of the flanks, and the best defenders of the army’s fortune (Aias is especially defence-oriented, and while Akhilleus takes the epithet first and it’s then transferred to Aias in his role as cipher-Akhilleus, I think it was first intended for him).

 _Admirals_ \- The epitome of Apollodoros makes Akhilleus sole leader of the fleet (at fifteen!) and Agamemnon sole commander on land. Dictys muddles things around, but at the outset has Agamemnon as C-in-C, Akhilleus, Aias, and Phoinix as the naval commanders, and Palamedes, Diomedes, and Odysseus as the army chiefs. I’m making my own scenario out of these, including the Salaminian being appropriately good at naval affairs, and Akhilleus being over-promoted in line with his Apollodoran age.

 _Aiantes_ \- it’s been recognised since Wackernagel in 1953 (and, I think, before, but that’s the earliest reference I remember) that it’s often more appropriate to read Aiantes in the Iliad as referring to Aias and his brother, rather than the two people literally named Aias who are otherwise pretty much unassociated.


End file.
